by Nic Saint
No, he would simply have to buckle up and push through. Daddy had told him to come up with a killer idea for a new real estate project, and that’s what he would do. Even if it killed him.
He turned off his phone, picked up his laptop, his copy of The Art of The Deal, and quickly scrawled a note to his father and placed it on the desk.
Hey Dad!
I’m hard at work on the project.
Even though you can’t see me.
That’s because I’m not here.
I’m in fact somewhere else.
Working.
Hard.
On the project.
See you!
Bomer
CHAPTER 24
Without hesitation, Felicity negotiated the Happy Bays Inn and walked straight on through to the kitchen. Happy Bays’s one and only claim to hostelry fame wasn’t a grand operation, but it was clean and cozy and quite popular with the regulars. The inn’s proprietor, Mary Long, prided herself on running a business geared to families, and made sure that there was always something to do for both parents and kids.
She placed the crate with bread and pastry on the gleaming stainless steel kitchen countertop and waited patiently for one of the kitchen staff to check its contents and give her the thumbs up.
She ambled over to the swinging doors that led into the inn’s dining room and saw that some early guests were already lining up at the breakfast buffet. She eagerly took a whiff of the aroma of sizzling eggs and freshly brewed coffee and was reminding herself it was probably time for her second breakfast of the day when a familiar figure burst through the dining room doors and headed straight for the coffeemaker.
On this beautiful morning, Rick Dawson looked nothing like his usual handsome self. His blond hair was tousled, his shirt rumpled, and his face a thundercloud. The man was clearly in a foul mood. Felicity’s heart bled. Even though she didn’t see eye to eye with the reporter, she felt for him.
It was obvious from what the NYPD detectives had told her that he was a man with a lot of issues. And very soon now she would be adding one more in the form of a complaint filed by her against that dreadful article of his.
Seeing Rick again suddenly made her want to thresh this thing out in person. Before allowing Alice to coerce her into filing charges, that had been her first thought. She didn’t like things like this hanging in the air, and she had no trouble telling a person to his or her face exactly what she thought of them.
She walked up to Rick and cleared her throat.
It was the last thing he’d expected, for he jumped about a foot in the air, and spilled the coffee he’d just poured all over his shirtfront.
“Ouch!” he cried as the piping hot liquid hit his sensitive skin.
“Oh, I’m so sorry!”
At the sound of her voice, he slowly turned his head and laid a look on her so frigid, it could have frozen the coffee and saved him a lot of trouble.
“You!” For a moment he just stood there, breathing heavily through his nostrils. It wouldn’t have surprised her if he’d breathed fire.
“I’m so sorry about this,” she said tentatively.
“You!” he repeated, and it didn’t sound as if she was his favorite person in the world. Nor could she blame him. It seemed as if every time they met, he ended up being assaulted in some way.
“Don’t worry about the stains,” she said, taking a napkin from the stack and swiping at his shirt. “They will come right out.” As he simply stood there glowering, she added, “I thought it was time you and I had a little chat.” When he didn’t respond, she continued, “I saw that article you wrote about me. The thing where you claim I’m working for Chazz Falcone? I just want you to know that I don’t know Mr. Falcone and I don’t like it when people tell lies about me. That said, I wanted to add that I fully understand if you’re sore with me, seeing as how I managed to cause you some trouble since you arrived in town.”
“Some trouble,” he repeated incredulously. “You’ve caused me nothing but trouble.”
“I’m well aware of that. Which is why I wanted to extend the olive branch.”
“And instead you decided to extend me the coffee,” he said in a low voice.
“That was an accident,” she huffed. The man was very hard to talk to.
“I see.” He pondered this for a moment, then snatched the napkin from her hand and dabbed it furiously at his shirt, making matters worse.
“I hope you have another shirt,” she commented, eyeing the devastation.
Ignoring her comment, he declared, “I’m going to pass on your offer.”
“Oh?”
“I never associate with people associated with Chazz Falcone.”
“I just told you, I don’t know the guy!”
“I have it on good authority that you work for him.”
She planted her hands on her hips and cocked her head. “And here I thought a good reporter always double-checked his sources.”
“You were entertaining two of Falcone’s men last night. You were offering them…” He screwed up his face in disapproval. “…favors.”
Her face fell. “Two of Falcone’s men? Where did you get that idea? The only men I had at my house last night…” She narrowed her eyes. “How do you know who was at my house? Have you been spying on me?”
He raised his chin. “I never reveal my sources.”
They both stood glaring at each other for a moment, then she decided it was time to make him see the light. He was dead wrong, and it was time he admitted as much. “Two NYPD detectives came by last night, asking questions about you. They said someone had filed a complaint against you, and they thought I was implicated because of what happened at Rafi’s Deli. I told them I’d only met you that afternoon and told them the whole story. Since Detective Vale—that was his name—kept clutching his stomach on account of this fast his wife has put him on, I fed him strawberry shortcake, pork chops and scalloped potatoes. So whatever your source told you about those ‘favors’ I offered, they were right, but in my defense I have to add that there is no law against feeding a policeman. And what Chazz Falcone has to do with anything I really don’t know, because, as I told you, I DON’T KNOW THE MAN!”
She knew that extending olive branches usually didn’t consist of raising one’s voice, but this man was so pigheaded she felt a little voice raising would help to drive her point through that thick skull of his.
He gave her a pointed stare. “Did you just say…Detective Vale?”
“That’s right. NYPD Detectives Jerry Vale and Johnny Carew. They said they were investigating a complaint made against you by—”
“Chazz Falcone.”
Rick was staring before him thoughtfully, his defiant air now gone.
“So I would really like to see that blog post of yours rectified to reflect my side of the story.”
“Eh?”
“I said that I would like you to change that stuff you wrote about me.”
“Oh, sure, sure,” he muttered, rubbing his chin. She noticed he hadn’t shaved and she kinda liked the effect. The stubble lent his strong features even more appeal, though for the life of her she didn’t know what that had to do with anything. She was merely relieved that he’d agreed so quickly. She felt a wave of relief wash over her.
“You know, Alice told me to file charges against you for defamation of character. I actually told Detective Vale to take my statement.” She gave him a grateful smile. “I’m glad I don’t to have to go through with that.”
“Eh?”
Her smile disappeared. “Are you really going to make me repeat everything twice?”
He eyed her wearily for a moment, then suddenly took her arm in a viselike grip, and steered her to a nearby table.
“Hey, what do you think—”
“Just listen for a moment,” he said emphatically, and she was starting to think she should revise her earlier decision not to press charges. Maybe Alice was right, and he really was some kind of crazy per
son. But before she could think this through, he was already babbling on. “Jerry Vale and Johnny Carew are not police detectives. They both work for Chazz Falcone. When I saw them enter your house last night—”
“So you were watching me!”
“—and then heard them talking to you that way—”
“What?!”
“—I figured you were in bed with them.”
She swiftly rose. “This is an outrage!”
Before she could stalk off, he pulled her down again. “Listen! Vale and Carew are Falcone’s goons. If they’re in town it can only mean one thing: they’re after me and they won’t stop until they’ve found me.”
She rose to her feet again. “That shouldn’t be too hard. After all, I found you and I’m not exactly Jessica Fletcher.”
Once again, he pulled her down. “What did they tell you—exactly?”
Rubbing her arm, she searched around. She was relieved to find at least three families enjoying their breakfast nearby. If Rick Dawson got really rough, she could simply holler and they’d come running, saving her from the beast. In the meantime, it didn’t hurt to placate the man. “I told you, they wanted to know how we met. I explained that I didn’t know you from Adam, and they seemed satisfied.”
He hit the table with his fist and started throwing surreptitious glances about the room. “I need to get out of here. If they’re following you they might have found me by now.”
“Mr. Dawson—Rick—can I make a suggestion? Simply turn yourself in. If the NYPD are looking for you—”
“Haven’t you heard a thing I said? They’re not police! They work for Falcone.”
It was time to address the elephant in the room. “Who is Falcone? I mean, I know he’s a businessman, but—”
“Chazz Falcone is a rat. He’s a crook who managed to muscle into the New York real estate business by strong-arming the competition and amassing a small fortune in the process. I’ve been working on a story about his shady dealings for weeks now, but he’s got so much pull that he’s convinced my editor to drop the story—and me.”
Everything was becoming clear now. Rick Dawson had lost his job. “Oh, you poor thing,” she said, placing a comforting hand on his arm.
He stared at her hand and she quickly removed it. “Whether Falcone wants to or not I’m going to publish that story. As a book if I can, on my blog if not. The story is pretty much done. And if Vale and Carew try to get at it, they’ve got another thing coming. I’ve got the whole thing in the cloud.”
He smiled triumphantly, as if this should mean something to her. It seemed to her the man had his head in the cloud instead of his cockamamie story.
“That is so great!” she said, as if speaking to a six-year-old.
“So even if they manage to steal my laptop, that won’t get them anywhere!”
“Super,” she murmured, darting a quick look around and measuring the distance to the exit. If she made a run for it now, she could just make it.
The same idea seemed to have occurred to Rick. He sprang to his feet, suddenly animated. “Look, I’m sorry about the blog post. I’ll remove it.”
She blinked. “Great. Thanks, Rick.”
He looked sheepish for a moment. “It’s just that when I heard you and Vale, I thought—I figured—I believed—” He sighed. “Anyway, I’m out of here.”
And with those words, he stalked away, looking left and right as if expecting a slew of police detectives to pop out from behind the coffeemaker. Then, just as abruptly, he turned on his heel and returned to the table.
“If those two goons ask about me, just tell them you haven’t seen me.”
She blinked at the intensity with which he was fixing her gaze. “Sure.”
He gave her arm a gentle squeeze. “And please be careful. They’re lowlifes of the first water. They’d just as soon hit you over the head as look at you.”
She watched him streak out of the dining room with some amusement. She really couldn’t make heads or tails of the whole story, but then she figured that was probably the reporter’s life for you. After a while these hardened newshounds had a hard time distinguishing fact from fiction. She just hoped it would never happen to her.
CHAPTER 25
Jerry sat back with a contented sigh. He’d just polished off three blueberry muffins, a chicken omelet, two gauffres and six chocolate croissants, all washed down with three cups of coffee. He patted his toothbrush, which he kept in his shirt pocket. A real lifesaver, it was. Last night, upon discovering he’d left home without it, he’d dropped by an all-night convenience store to pick up a new one. He’d brushed his tongue just the way Alice had advised, and Marlene hadn’t noticed a thing. As usual, she’d pulled out his tongue for inspection the moment he walked through the door, and had actually raved over the pinkness of the thing, telling him his fast was already working its magic on his liver.
“Johnny, buddy, I think I could get used to this town.” He gestured to the tea room. “This haven of peace, this wonderful idyll. The best people, the best ambience, and above all, the best food in the world.”
Johnny gave him an approving glance. “I’m so glad to hear you say it, Jer. I was really worried about you. Are you feeling up to snuff now?”
“Never felt better. Never felt better. All the old strength has returned.” He gave Johnny the once-over. His comrade in arms looked genuinely perturbed and it pained him. Feeling on top of the world himself, he wanted to spread joy and good cheer to all mankind. “What’s the matter? Don’t tell me your wife has sprung this fast thing on you as well?”
“No, thank God she hasn’t.”
“Well, what is it then? You look like something from a horror movie.”
“It’s just that…shouldn’t we be looking for Rick Dawson? I mean, that is the reason we came down here in the first place, right?”
“I guess so,” he admitted. He’d been enjoying his return to eating form so much he’d all but forgotten about the sleazeball they were supposed to find.
“You had to feed yourself, Jer, you really did,” Johnny immediately countered. “You were skin over bones, you were. Had lost all your strength.”
“Yeah, no use going up against a guy like Dawson feeling like something the cat dragged in.” He stretched out his arms, a wide smile on his face. “But I’m up for it now, buddy. Line up all the Rick Dawsons in the world and I will punch their lights out one by one.”
Johnny plastered a tentative smile on his face. “So we’re back in business?”
“Damn skippy we are!”
“Great.” Johnny heaved a deep sigh of relief. “Just for a moment there I thought we were in a sticky situation. What with the boss’s phone call and all.”
“What? No, that had nothing to do with the mission at all!” He expelled a hacking laugh. “Falcone wanted to know about the Bell woman.”
Johnny’s look of concern returned. “Why did he want to know that?”
“Oh, you know the boss. Always going on about something. He read that article on Dawson’s blog and got curious is all. Perfectly understandable.”
“So you told him she’s got nothing to do with Dawson, right?”
Jerry frowned. He hadn’t told Falcone a thing. Just that he’d look into the matter. No reason to explain the whole story. “Sure, sure. Of course I did.”
“Good. I don’t want any harm to come to that nice girl. Not after everything she’s done for us.”
“Yeah, yeah,” said Jerry vaguely. He recalled that the boss had told him he’d come down to Happy Bays to look into the Bell woman personally. He didn’t see any need to trouble Johnny with such minor details. If the boss wanted to come to Happy Bays, let him. He’d probably come to the same conclusion: that she was a harmless kook. Meanwhile, he thought it wise to get a move on and find out where Dawson was hiding out. Preferably before Falcone landed in the small town and discovered that his two underlings had spent most of their time—and his precious dime—studying the local cuisine.
He rose with some effort, and threw a couple of bills on the table. “Let’s go find us a Dawson, buddy.” Then he ambled over to the counter, where Mrs. Bell was presiding over the proceedings. “Mrs. Bell,” he said in his most gregarious voice, “I was wondering if I could perhaps trouble you for some information?”
“Oh, of course, Detective,” said Mrs. Bell with that charming smile of hers.
“If one were to come to Happy Bays on vacation, let’s say, where would one go for accommodation, as it were?”
“Well, we do have the Happy Bays Inn, of course,” she said with a frown, thinking hard in an effort to accommodate this exceedingly nice police detective. “There are other hotels in neighboring towns, but if you wanted to stay right here, the Inn would be your only choice.”
“Thank you so much, Mrs. Bell.”
“You’re most welcome, Detective. Will we be expecting you for lunch?”
With a pang of regret, he said, “I don’t think so. Police business waits for no man, I’m afraid. It’s time we headed back to the good old Big Apple.”
“In that case…” She disappeared behind the counter for a moment, then came back with a paper baggie, and handed it to him.
“What’s this?”
“Apple pie. For the road.”
He sighed as he gave her a lopsided grin. “I’m sure gonna miss this place.”
CHAPTER 26
Bomer hummed a cheerful tune as he stepped inside his friend’s apartment. He was carrying his laptop under his arm. Checking out Rick’s pad, he was gratified to find it neat and tidy. Rick, in spite of being a reporter, was a stickler for cleanliness, and had a maid come in every couple of days, even when he was out of the country for the paper.
